Favourite Attendant

"Ahh!"

"Ahh!"

Deep...deep underground, in a place far removed from the frozen world above. In a rugged, low-lit cave, at the end of a tunnel-like maze...

Drips echo in the hush, as the wind glides by with a breath of chill.

The stench of blood...

Glowing eyes that embraced the dark...

Melodious cries from those being eaten alive...

"Ahh!"

This!...

This is Newborn territory.

In this place that reeks of death, twenty-foot-tall newborn beasts could be seen prostrating toward what looked like an ice-hot sea of lava.

A mysterious black and white fog shrouded its surface, revealing the faint silhouette of an island. From that direction came a cacophony of sounds...

Chewing...

Screams of despair...

And then,

Silence.

***

In the world above, south of the Cerberus Mountains, lay a nation known as the land of Forever Ice. The Brena Sea, one of the four Great High Seas, surrounds its entire coastline, and somewhere within this vast land, a single father who had two children could be seen finishing one of the most important rituals of the day.

Bedtime stories!

Inside this room, which the family of three called home.

Three pieces of furniture — a bed, a table, and a makeshift cabinet —were the most treasured possessions that this family had.

Not only due to their sentimental value, but also because they were the only things that the household could afford. The bed faced a small window, where light from the outside world spilled gently into the room.

A candle flickered on the table by the bed, adding its soft glow to the low-lit room. The table was placed strategically for ease of use and to facilitate a smooth transition between meals, reading time, and sleep.

This was the life of the lower class.

At least those who were fortunate enough to have a place they call home.

At the moment, a young girl with long blonde hair was quietly staring out the window at the night sky, her thoughts unknown.

Her younger brother, a mischievous little devil, was known for his overbearing nature towards all the kids in the street.

Why?

Because whenever he was invited to play by the other children, be it boys or girls, he always roughed up everyone.

No care, no regard for gender or any other nonsense.

He believed that weakness has no gender, just as strength is genderless.

To him, it was simple: in this world, weakness means death.

Weakness is sin, and sinners must be punished. He believed that children his age were too complacent and unprepared to face the horror of life. Whenever parents came knocking on their door to offer a complaint, he always held his ground and gave them a piece of his mind.

Stumped by the resolve of the 8-year-old boy, some of them left with defeated expressions on their faces. Some mocked him, questioning what he knew about the horrors of life.

In contrast, some concerned parents would advise his dad from time to time to discourage his way of thinking.

Asserting that his son was missing out on proper childhood development, they would often remind him. 

"A child should act like a child, and an adult should act like an adult; this is the natural order of life."

They warned.

"With the child's current mindset, he risks skipping a crucial and meaningful stage of development, which could ultimately prove counterproductive to his future growth."

However, the little boy remained unfazed by their assertions.

In the end, his father chose to give him some space.

Why?

Because he believed that his son was grieving from their mother's death, the loss of their mother at such a tender age of five for his son and six for his daughter would ultimately lead to a remarkable transformation.

The son, wanting to become stronger and protect his loved ones, took a more aggressive approach towards the world.

While...

The daughter, on the other hand, grew increasingly detached and, over time, became numb to the outside world's workings. Her current goal seemed to be caring for their family. 

Filling it with love.

 THUD!

The door slammed hard against the wall.

A young boy with dark hair, gloomy eyes, and a hot temper entered the room.

The sudden noise jolted the young girl from her quiet reverie by the window. With a sideways glance, she confirmed it was her notorious little brother-and couldn't help but rebuke him in an angry tone while pointing her finger in his direction.

"You are uncultured and unfilial."

Not missing a beat, the young boy with displeasure written on his face, glared at his big sister and answered back with his accusations.

"You are pretentious and lofty".

Then, a barrage of a few unscrupulous exchanges and a glaring showdown of derision erupted between the sibling duo.

A few minutes later, an adult voice chimed in from outside, his tone firm and authoritative.

"Enough, both of you."

It was their father, and within these walls, his word reigned supreme. Well aware of the constant banter between his two children, he smiled wryly and shook his head.

"When will they grow up?"

He contemplated in silence.

After everyone was done with their affairs and ready to call it a day, they slowly approached their shared bed to finalise the two most important rituals of the day.

Stories and a goodnight sleep.

It's the simple things in life that are the most cherished and joyful moments for those in the lower class.

The boy leading the way jumped into bed, pulled up the blanket, and excused himself from the bedtime story session.

His excuse?

"Exhaustion from educating fools"

"Yeah, right."

The young girl replied, a smirk tugging at her lips.

"The only fool out there is you, little brother-you and your foolish life-shaking philosophies."

She then burst into hearty laughter.

Not wanting to continue this never-ending confrontation, especially in front of his father, who always took his sister's side, he lazily turned his head around, faced the wall, and closed his eyes in defeat.

But was he truly going to sleep?

The main problem here wasn't exhaustion, but rather the nature of the stories presented, which led him to feign interest. 

Their mother was a hunter, and their father is a hunter. Despite both being low-class hunters, in the eyes of the young boy, they are his heroes. But from the day his mother died, a new kind of fire was born within him.

The drive to become the strongest hunter, but before that, he needed more stories, stories to prepare him for the path ahead.

More stories about their hunting adventures. More stories about their battles with newborn beasts. More stories of the mother's heroic deeds. More stories about the hunter's way of life. More and more stories about their world....

But above all, the one story that mattered most was the story behind their mother's death.

Whenever he asked his father for these stories, he always got the same response.

"Wait till you turn 18."

On the other hand, every request from his big sister was granted without hesitation.

"Fuck"